


goliath

by uncaringerinn



Series: underdog. [1]
Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: F/M, Hair-pulling, fistfights as foreplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-13
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-05-06 12:39:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5417402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/uncaringerinn/pseuds/uncaringerinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There used to be a saying before the war, "The enemy of my enemy is my friend".</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. one.

**Author's Note:**

> so, if you guys read afterthought, you'll see that i put a note in there about rewriting goliath.  
> well, here is that rewrite.

Speckled in Kellogg's drying blood, cheeks tear-streaked, and bones weary, Theodora watches the metal behemoth slice through the clear sky of the Commonwealth. She winces against the blinding light of the sun, super-sledge dropping to her side as a loud booming voice declares peaceful intentions while forbidding citizen intervention.

_"We are the Brotherhood."_

The words echo in her ears and give her pause. 

\--

It takes her a month to find a way onto that airship. Her chance comes when she stumbles upon a distress signal from the old Cambridge Police Station. She is compensated for her assistance, and the Paladin offers her a place in the Brotherhood.

She accepts.

Now, Theodora stands in the shadowed corner of a room. Looking on as a man speaks passionately about liberating the Commonwealth from the abominations that infest it. Declares the Institute an enemy of the Brotherhood, calls for the outright destruction of the organization, and in doing so, they will save humanity from itself. The small crowd of soldiers before him listens, enraptured.

He has the voice of a leader; deep and strong. The words he speaks strike a chord within her, and it resonates unpleasantly throughout her body; humming in a way that forces her to clench her teeth in discomfort.

She wants to know if she's doing the right thing; imagines the advice Nate would have given her. His moral compass was always something she envied, lacking a fully functional one herself. _"The road taken is just as important as the final outcome",_ Nate always used to say. Theodora can still hear his laughing voice as she fretted over something trivial, _"Choose wisely, Teddy."_

The room empties, and she is left standing alone. Elder Maxson has his back turned to her, staring out over the ruins of Boston. To her, the sound of her footsteps seem impossibly loud as she strides up beside him. He is a mountain of a man; casting a definite shadow over her small frame.

"I care about them, you know." His voice is much gentler now, the passion and flare gone, and he sounds so young, "The people of the Commonwealth."

Theodora inclines her head slightly; crosses her arms in front of her chest, "To me, it sounds like you're preparing for war."

"Sometimes, you have to start a war to prevent one." He turns his head to look down at her, she doesn't turn to meet him, "The difference is that the war we start won't reduce civilization to ashes."

"How could it? The world's already been reduced to ashes." Cold. _You sound bitter, Theodora,_ she thinks. "What do want from me, Elder?"

"You need to start making a difference, and from what I've read of Paladin Danse's reports, you've already begun that journey."

_The road taken is just as important._

"I'm granting you the rank of Knight." The words are spoken in such a way that she has to resist the urge to curl her lip in distaste.

"How...generous of you." The Elder raises an eyebrow at her response but merely tells her to report to the flight deck once she's finished acquainting herself with the Prydwen.

She walks away more apprehensive than when she arrived, unease settling in the base of her spine. The Brotherhood is a truly formidable force, and conveniently, one who is already at odds with the Institute. They are not her only option, though.

_Choose wisely, Teddy._

\--

"She isn't what I expected, Paladin."

Arthur wants to wince, because the words sound more like a scolding than a simple observation. Though, that was his primary objective of bringing her aboard the Prydwen: observe. This was the woman who tore through the Boston ruins in an heartbreaking and heroic attempt at saving her stolen son. Meeting her in the flesh was...underwhelming.

Across the room she had seemed small and unassuming. Up close, though, was a different matter entirely. Her small stature radiated discomfort, indecision. This woman wasn't committed to the Brotherhood, and he seriously doubted she ever would be. Especially after watching her reaction when he promoted her to Knight.

"She's...still adjusting, Elder." Danse says, his eyes drifting over to where the newly promoted woman sits, wilted, at the bar. She picks unenthusiastically at a plate of cooked vegetables and occasionally fiddles with the knobs on her Pip-Boy.

"Then maybe it's best that you help her through her period of adjustment, Paladin."

Danse frowns, "I've already offered her my companionship. She politely declined. I would hesitate to force the issue further, sir."

They both watch as the woman pushes her plate of uneaten food away, and places a handful of caps upon the bar counter. She slides on her pack first, before picking up her super-sledge and descending the ladder onto the flight deck. If she notices them staring, she doesn't acknowledge it.

\--

The sky is glowing a sickly green, heralding an imminent radstorm, when she stumbles into the Third Rail to retrieve MacCready. She's filthy, caked with dried sweat and Commonwealth dirt, and she doesn't miss the way MacCready's nose wrinkles when she sits on the bar stool beside him.

It's smokier than usual, and it seems oddly quiet without Magnolia's soft crooning in the background. It feels empty. Distant and wrong.

MacCready speaks, "I see you're done dealing with the Devil." It's not a jab, but Theodora is very much aware of her companion's dislike for the Brotherhood.

She sighs, "I've made no deals. Or commitments. I can see why you don't care for them very much, though."

"Yeah, Boss. They're jerks."

"They seem," Theodora frowns as she flails one hand about, trying to search for the correct words, "Overly eager?" _No, that's not right._

"Condescending? Holier-than-thou?" MacCready adds. He picks at his teeth with a wooden sliver, "God, I hate those guys."

There's a crack of thunder and more people find their way into the bar to avoid the storm. Someone complains loudly about the shitty weather and MacCready rolls his eyes. She takes the break in the conversation to order a beer, lukewarm and flat. An acquired taste.

"Look, since we're on the subject, it's no secret that the Brotherhood isn't crazy about synths. I think you should probably take a break from your Railroad jobs for a little while." He rolls the toothpick with tongue and teeth, "If they find out-"

"Would they? For them to find out they would have to trail-"

He cuts her off, "Boss, odds are they probably already know. Just like they know you're General of the Minutemen and how you've been searching for your kid." MacCready steals her beer and drains it, "They're playing off the latter to fit you into their fold. They'll paint the Institute as villains, and don't get me wrong, they're a bunch of creepy scumbags, but listen to me when I tell you that the Brotherhood isn't much better."

Theodora feels a sinking sensation in her chest and she desperately fights the urge to cry. Hopelessness, anger, and exhaustion radiate through her. She hates this world, but knows that the one she came from wasn't a brighter alternative. Shoulders slumped, she presses her grimy forehead against the sticky bar counter.

MacCready touches her elbow, and his voice is soft, apologetic, "Sorry, Boss. I didn't mean to upset you."

"It's okay, Mac," She mumbles, "I'm gonna go...I'm gonna go wash up. I'll find you in the morning, alright?"

He nods solemnly and motions for Charlie to bring him another beer, "Yeah, Boss."

\--

Her stomach churns tightly as she watches the brown water swirl lazily in the steel tub. Fucking filthy, but she makes no effort to leave the bath. Midnight noises float in through the open hotel window from the streets below. She listens mindlessly while lathering herself for a third time. The water stays murky, and she doesn't feel any cleaner.

There's a broken mirror with a few jagged, dirty pieces left clinging to a rotten frame. And once she dries off, pulls her long, ginger hair back into a braid, she succumbs to her own morbid curiosity and sits down in front of the mirror. She stares at her reflection for what seems like a lifetime. The tops of her cheeks are sunburned, a fresh batch of freckles peeking up from underneath the peeling skin. And the scars, they were constants that marred her face long before atomic war had changed the world she once knew. She traces them with her left hand, thumb following the one stretching over her left cheek, forefinger over the one dragging down her chin. Her lips tremble and her eyes water because-

Because Nate had done the very same thing countless times before.

Theodora is suddenly angry. For sitting down in front of this shattered mirror and thinking she could maybe recognize something within herself. See the person she once was, but could no longer be. All she saw was a woman who had the misfortune of surviving while everyone she ever loved was ripped away and she was left helpless, alone. She reaches up and grips the edge of the frame before flinging it across the room. The already broken pieces scatter over the floor, reflective surfaces gleaming in the moonlight.

\--

The next morning she meets MacCready in front of the town gates leading out of Goodneighbor. A bright, sunny, and windless day. Promising for the amount of bloodshed and destruction to come. MacCready strides up to her, letter clutched in one hand, and cigarette dangling between the fingers of the other.

"You done flirting with Daisy?" she asks, but there isn't any malice to it.

He smirks, shoving the letter into the pocket of his duster, "Why? You jealous, Boss?"

"Oh, no. You caught me," she answers dryly and turns toward the gates, but he catches her by the shoulder before she can move away.

"Look," His tone morphs into something different, cautious and determined, "I just want you to know that you've done so much for me and-"

Theodora squints at the sun so she doesn't have to look directly at him, "Mac, you are like... one of the only decent people I've met in this pile full of shitholes so you don't have to keep thanking me-"

"That's not the point, Teddy. The point is that last night I made it seem like I was pushing you in a certain direction and I want you to know that whatever path you choose I'll stick with you. I might complain about it relentlessly, but I'll stay."

Her tongue suddenly feels glued to the roof of her mouth and she has to look at the ground between their shoes to gather herself up. She wants to cry, to hug him and sob into his chest, but instead, when she finally collects herself enough to look at him she mutters, "Wow, let's try not to get so sappy next time."

MacCready inhales sharply and rolls his eyes, "I should have told you to take your 250 caps and shove them up your-"

She smiles at him, "Thanks, Mac."

He offers her a small smile in return, "You're welcome, Boss."

He asks her where they're headed as they walk through the gates. The sun beats down relentlessly upon them and there's gunshots somewhere in the distance. She tosses him a bottle of Rad-X before flipping the knobs on her Pip-Boy, "Your favorite place in the whole, wide world."

"Please don't tell me-"

Theodora gives him a smirk that only just curls at the corners of her mouth, "The Glowing Sea."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i'm taking a chance on things here. and if ya'll prefer the original, that's totally fine and i have it saved if this doesn't work out.  
> what i'm hoping to accomplish with this rewrite is that, for the first time in my fucking life, to write a fucking story and finish it.  
> rewriting will (hopefully, because i'm trying to be consistent here) happen for the entire underdog series and give you guys a more thorough background between the relationship of Maxson and Theodora and not just throw readers into the fucking middle of things with no explanation as to how or why the characters ended up in that single moment in time. (of course, i'll update the other works in the series as i go along, so as of right now, slingshot and charcoal are still the same.)  
> that being said, you guys will probably recognize scenes or dialogue from the old versions because there's a couple of good things i want to keep.  
> goliath now, will be multi-chaptered and center around the uncomfortable and ever-building tension between Maxson and Teddy.  
> please, for the love of god, guys, let me know what you think. or, let me know if you thought the old version is better. idk. just let me know.


	2. two.

Theodora can feel the stares of the soldiers. They're like hooks, sunk deep and snagging on her flesh. Covered in the guts of the Glowing Sea, her hair hangs dirty down her back; gnarled and filthy. Knuckles busted, and her face not fairing much better, all she wants is to take the longest, hottest shower known to mankind.

It is just her luck then, to find that the water heater aboard the Prydwen has been malfunctioning for the past couple of days. She bathes in water that's tepid at best, and she has to wash her hair three times before the water stops running rust-brown. Theodora half-wishes that she took her bar of soap out of MacCready's pack before she sent him back to the Third Rail. The soap the Brotherhood provides for her smells so strongly of antiseptic that she occasionally has to hold her breath to stop the burning sensation tingling up her nose.

It takes about ten minutes to dry off, to dress in an old flannel shirt and a pair of worn-out jeans. And after, she takes the time to smear some petroleum jelly across the cuts in her knuckles. It'll do nothing for the bruising, but that can't be helped. She wraps her knuckles carefully, in the last few strips of clean bandaging she has. She completes the ensemble by grabbing the holotags issued to her and pulling the chain over her head and down around her neck, shoving the clanging pieces of metal beneath her shirt.  

It's quiet now, and she stares blankly down at the floor by her socked feet. For a blissful, single second her mind is blank, and the vacancy is the best feeling she's had since she crawled out of that goddamn vault.

A stark knock on the steel of her door jerks her back to reality and the sudden awareness is almost crushing.

_Ignore it_ , she thinks, _it's late. Go to bed._

Theodora answers it anyway.

Standing there is a squire that cannot be more than ten years of age. Eyes too wide, face too childlike.

"Knight Metzger, Elder Maxson has requested your presence," the boy says, in a high-pitched, too-loud voice.

_Of course he has_ , "Right now? Is it absolutely necessary?"

"Yes, ma'am. Would you like me to escort you?" the squire asks, hopeful that she might take up the offer.

She rubs at the back of her neck, sighs, and nods once, "Lead the way."

\---

The Elder's quarters are sparse, cold and empty in a way that makes her lonely, and Theodora briefly wonders if it makes the man sitting in front of her feel the same way. Or would he even notice, if he's never known anything different?

He's thanking her for clearing out Fort Strong a few weeks prior. Praising how swiftly and efficiently the mission was carried out. At least, she thinks it's something along those lines. She's spent the last three minutes of this one-sided conversation observing him. Listening to the sound of his voice, but not truly hearing anything he has to say. Watching the way his jaw moves when he speaks, the flash of white teeth behind dry lips. Her head takes an imperceptive tilt to the side as her thoughts shift to a drastically different light.

Old World hazel eyes drift from the hardened face of the Elder down to his broad shoulders, tracing over impossibly muscled arms, and gliding back to a chest that would, as she imagined, have dark, coarse hair that would eventually taper off into a small trail that disappeared into his waistband.

Her once dry mouth is suddenly watering, and she finds herself swallowing thickly; vainly hoping the Elder hasn't noticed her blatant distraction. Disgust churns her stomach, and she suddenly no longer wants to be in the presence of this man.

Theodora interrupts him, because the room is getting smaller and her heart is beating faster, "While I appreciate your praise for a job well done, I feel like this meeting could have waited until tomorrow." She slides her hands to the edge of the table before using her palms to push herself back.

The look Maxson gives her is a mixture of confusion and annoyance, "We're not finished here, Knight." The words are said in a voice so low that she can only hear them as a clear warning.

Theodora freezes. Anger curls at the back of her throat and her skin is starting to crawl with agitation. _Get out,_ and it echoes in her head, _out, out, out._

Her eyes track up the length of him and lock with his. He speaks with a finality that brokers no argument, "You leave when I dismiss you."

Her jaw cocks and the pink sliver of her tongue comes out to lick at cracked lips, "Forgive me," she says softly, it's certainly more gentle and polite than she feels, "It seems I have forgotten my manners."

_Out,_ her brain chants, _get out, get out, get out_ , but his ice-blue eyes are staring at her with such an intensity that her palms turn clammy and her guts twist up. She feels like a caged animal, but she stays all the same.

"Despite how this conversation started, I brought you here because I have some matters to discuss with you," Maxson states, frown curling at the corners of his mouth.

Theodora crosses her arms over her chest, sets herself rigidly against the back of her chair, "Then please, let's discuss them."

 

He takes a minute to study her body language; the sudden disinterest playing across her features, the lackluster sheen in her eyes, the way her fingers curl into fists in the crooks of her elbows.

After the pause, "What concerns me is your choice in companionship," he says softly, as if he's doing his best not to anger her any further. He says it like he's speaking to a child and that alone is enough to cause her the irritation he had been clearly trying to avoid.

"My choice in companionship," she echoes back slowly before screwing her face up in a display of mock confusion, "I'm sorry, Elder Maxson. I happen to have several companions, so you'll have to be more specific in describing which one of them you find lacking."

She watches him set his jaw, inhale once, then exhale, "The mercenary. Characters of that type are always _unsavory_."

"MacCready? You're worried about MacCready?" She gives a crude snort before she leans forward, pointing a scrawny finger at him, "Don't worry about him. He's harmless."

"He kills people for money."

Theodora shrugs, "Times are tough."

"It reflects poorly not only upon you, but the entirety of the Brotherhood as well," Maxson says, and the authority in the statement rings clear, makes her want to shrink down in size and apologize for her actions.

And again, disgust crawls underneath her skin. She doesn't understand why he makes her feel this way, "No."

"No?" he asks, dark eyebrows raised in disbelief, "I don't think you unders-"

"MacCready stays," she interjects, shoving her chair back and standing. She slams her palms flat against the tabletop so he can't see just how bad her hands are shaking. Leaning forward, Theodora bluffs with everything she's got, "You and I both know that I'm the Brotherhood's best shot at getting into the Institute. I decide who I travel with, including MacCready, or I walk."

Maxson rises from his seat slowly, brings himself to his full height. He towers over her, a veritable wall of unforgiving muscle. _Goliath,_ she thinks, _he will swallow me whole._

She doesn't flinch, although she wants to, and she stares back into deep-blue eyes. For her, it's like falling into the darkest abyss she's ever known.

The Elder bends down to meet her, mimicking her own stance and bracing himself against the table. When he finally speaks, it's a low, dark rumble, "I think you overestimate how essential you are to this operation, Knight Metzger."

"I can leave at any time, Elder."

There's beat of silence.

"MacCready stays," Maxson repeats her words. He waves a hand towards the door of his quarters, but his gaze never leaves her own, "You're dismissed."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i tried.


	3. three.

Paladin Danse is not the man she'd imagined he would be. Sure, there's the unfiltered bigotry and unnecessary, ignorant commentary on life before the war, but she still doesn't hate him the way she thought she would.

When Theodora picked him up after the encounter with Maxson, Danse had almost seemed shocked that she had asked him to accompany her.

She doesn't blame him.

It's a trial of sorts when she takes him out to various Minutemen settlements to help out her settlers. They spend two weeks doing just that, hopping from place to place; County Crossing, Starlight Drive-in, Outpost Zimonja, Sunshine Tidings, rescuing kidnap victims, slaughtering feral ghoul infestations, defending the areas from raider attacks.

She's testing him because she expects him to interact with her settlers in the same rude, arrogant manner she's seen the other Brotherhood members employ with the Commonwealth citizens.

Danse completely blindsides her when he confesses that he actually _likes_ helping out her settlements. He _enjoys_ it. It takes Theodora by such surprise that she has to ask him to repeat himself the first time he tells her.

And just like that, he passes the test he didn't even know she was putting him through.  

\---

Greenetech Genetics is a new type of fresh hell that she wasn't quite prepared for. Danse, god bless him, is a damn good soldier, though. And admittedly, probably the only reason she survives the firefight.

They sift through ten levels of goddamn Gunners. The body count is unbelievable, a mess to truly behold, but Theodora knows what waits for her on the tenth floor, even if Danse doesn't. She knows where that Courser will lead her, and she's practically frothing at the mouth for it.

That alone makes her reckless, and Danse has to demand her focus more than once on their seemingly endless trek through this miserable building.

The Courser is waiting for them at the top floor. There is a laser pistol in his right hand, outstretched and pointing in the direction of two whimpering Gunners. A young woman stands in the locked room behind them, eyes wide and hands pressed against the glass.

"What is this?" demands Danse.

The Courser ignores him, speaks only to Theodora, "Are you here for the synth?"

She takes a step toward him, but the agent shakes his head, "Please do not come any closer. There has been enough loss of life today, and I would hate to add these gentlemen to the list of the deceased."

"Why would you think I would care about them?"

At this question, one of the Gunners sniffs wetly, and the other starts openly sobbing.

"I've heard about you," the Courser says, head lilting to one side, "The sole survivor of Vault 111. A woman who helps those in desperate need. A general trying to give the Commonwealth back to the people. A mother searching for her lost child. Your heart bleeds kindness."

Theodora's face hardens, "You've heard wrong."

Besides the sniveling of the hostages, there is almost absolute silence. She drops her super-sledge to the floor. The weapon deals maximum damage, but it is slow and heavy, and will be largely ineffective against an opponent such as the Institute agent before her. Instead, there's the soft rasp of metal as she pulls a wicked blade from its sheath at her side.

Danse inhales sharply behind her, the girl behind the glass is shaking her head, "I didn't come for the synth," Theodora says, crystal clear and colder than ice. She points the tip of Kremvh at the Courser, "I came for you."

\---

The fight is particularly brutal. She ends up with a broken nose, a black eye, there's a nasty burn on the top of her left calf, and that bastard broke three of her ribs, minimum.

The Gunners were caught in the crossfire. She asks Danse to loot the bodies in order to distract him while she pulls the chip from the dead Courser. She has to breathe through her mouth because her nose is too fucked up to do anything more than weakly drizzle blood over her lips a chin. Her lungs are on fire, ribs screaming in protest with every rise and fall of her chest.

She stumbles over to the terminal, leans heavily against it while she makes a fumbling attempt to hack it. Paladin Danse watches her warily as she does this. He's upset with her. That's fine, she's too exhausted to care.

Besides, he's about to be far more angry with her over what she's about to do.

Her luck, for once in her shitty life, holds. The maglocks disengage and the metal door slides open.

It turns out that the "name" of the synth-woman inside is K1-98, but she prefers to go by Jenny. She is frightened, that much is plain. Jenny escaped from the Institute only to be captured by the Gunners. The Courser was sent to retrieve her, and now that he's dead, Theodora lets her know that there is no reason that Jenny can't go free.

"Live," Theodora says as she presses her back against the wall. She tilts her head back, eyes to the ceiling, but it only makes the blood from her busted nose drip down the back of her throat. She straightens, "If you follow the trail to freedom, maybe it'll lead you to where you need to go."

Jenny's eyes widen, so Theodora knows she understands what she means, and the synth-woman nods, "Thank you."

Jenny leaves, and Danse and Theodora are left alone.

The paladin turns to her, brown eyes dark and jaw clenched, "What the hell were you thinking, Knight?"

She slides down the wall, splays her legs out in front of her, "About what? The synth or the Courser?"

"I thought we came here to clear this location of Gunners and take it for the Brotherhood." Danse says.

"I'm sorry I gave you the wrong impression, but you know, we did get rid of the Gunner problem." Her point does nothing to pacify him.

His eyes narrow into points of suspicion, "You came here for that Courser, why?"

She shrugs, "I thought it might have a way into the Institute."

"And did it?"

"No," she lies.

Theodora can tell that the answer only angers him further, but the paladin just shakes his head and comes to crouch in front of her, "Why did you let that synth go? That _thing_ is an enemy of the Brotherhood."

"That _thing_ didn't ask to be made, Danse. None of those synths do. If she wanted to be free, to live her own life, then why not give her a chance?" She moves to get up, but lacks the momentum to do so. Danse, even though he's upset with her, places a hand at her elbow and helps her to her feet, "That's all anyone can really ask for," she says, wincing against the pain in her ribs, "A chance."

She thinks that Danse might understand the point she's trying to make, but he still wears a deep settled frown on his face, "I have to report this to Elder Maxson."

Theodora smiles, the dried blood around her mouth stretches with the strain and cracks, "So tell him."

\---

They head back to the Prydwen, and she gets cleaned up. Cade sets her nose, and it'll probably look good as new once the swelling goes down. He gives her a strange smelling ointment for the bruising around her eye, but tells her there's nothing to be done about her ribs. He stimpaks those, and administers a dose of Med-X for the pain.

"Keep the activity to a minimum, and you should be almost back to normal by the end of the week." Cade says.

She thanks him, and goes to see Procter Quinlan. The shear amount of technical documents she's been collecting has done nothing but take up useable space in her pack. Organization has fallen by the wayside, but she's done her best to keep these specific documents separate from the other loose notes she has floating around in her bag. Even with the rubber band she's stretched around the documents to keep them together, some have managed to slip free.

Theodora gathers up the ones that managed to get loose, slides them back underneath the rubber band, and hands the stack to Quinlan. He pays her and sends her on her way.

Parting ways with Danse, Theodora sets out for Goodneighbor to meet back up with MacCready.

She does not speak to Elder Maxson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is mostly a filler chapter, but an important one.   
> it's the beginning of the friendship between Danse and Theodora, but it also sets up the stage for a very necessary (maybe, maybe not, who cares?) interaction between Maxson and Teddy, which will come next chapter.  
> as always, let me know what you think if you want.


	4. four.

She has to sweet-talk MacCready when she finally swings by to pick him up. He's angry with her. Traveling with Danse for the past couple of weeks had turned him sour.

"You couldn't even let me know?" he asks, annoyed. He flings his hands up in the air, "I wait around, thumb up my as- butt and I have to hear it from fuc-, from freaking Hancock, who heard it from Preston that you were wandering around the Commonwealth with that- that gigantic, walking garbage can, and what the hell, Boss? You couldn't stop by and let me know?"

"I'm sorry, Mac. I got caught up in-"

" _I thought you were dead!_ "

And, _oh._

"I didn't," she stumbles over the words, thick with guilt, "I never meant to make you worry. It won't happen again. I really am sorry, Mac."

"Just- just be careful, okay? Drop by and tell me next time, or send a note, or something. So I don't drive myself crazy." he says.

When she nods, he asks, "Why'd you even take _him_ , anyway?"

"I thought I could swing him."

MacCready looks at her like she's lost her mind, "You thought you could turn him against the Brotherhood?"

"What? No!" Theodora rolls her eyes, looking ahead at the dusty trail before them. They're heading to Sanctuary. One step closer to finding Shaun.

"I thought I could just make him a little more understanding. About ghouls, and synths, and fucking people in general, I guess," she clarifies. She shoves a hand in her pocket, pulls out the Courser chip to show him, "And he help me get this."

MacCready's eyes widen, "You did it." He laughs after he says it, like he can't really believe she's holding the component in her hand.

Theodora smiles with him, and soon they're good as new.

\---

Sturges gives her a list of the things he'll need to build the teleporter, and she arranges with the provisioner there to bring the materials up from the Castle. The mechanic tells her to hold onto patience just a little longer, that he can have it built in a few weeks if everything goes smoothly.

But she still worries. The trade lines between her settlements are prone to raider attacks, and more recently, supermutants. It almost makes her heart swell when MacCready volunteers to travel with the provisioner to make sure everything goes as planned.

This time she makes sure to tell him she's heading back to the Prydwen for a check-up with Cade. And he hugs her, truly hugs her, and lets her know that he'll send word when Sturges is finished.

They part ways again, too soon, but for once everything feels okay.

\---

Cade gives her the all-clear, and she spends the rest of the day lounging around in her cramped, closet sized room aboard the airship. She uses the time to work through the ridiculous amount of over-due books she managed to collect and it's the closest thing to relaxing she's had since before the war. Spread out across her bed, wearing only an off-white t-shirt pulled over a pair of long-johns and some socks to keep her feet warm.

Of course, it ends, as it always does, around midnight.

There's a knock on her door, and when she answers it, the squire that greeted her last time stands before her. The boy's lost his enthusiasm since their last encounter and simply asks her to follow him to the Elder's quarters.

And the warm feeling that had been soaking in her chest since Sanctuary comes to an abrupt halt.

The squire closes the door behind her as she stands awkwardly before a seated Maxson. He gestures for her to have a seat, and she sits across from him. So much like their last meeting that she wonders if this one will end in the same way.

A bottle of half-finished whiskey rests beside him, and there are more bottles, empty and otherwise, strewn about his room.

Theodora picks at her nails, stares at the whiskey, tries to shove down this horrible feeling welling up in her guts.

When Maxson finally, _finally_ speaks, she wishes he hadn't.

"When Paladin Danse spoke with me about the situation at Greenetech Genetics, about the synth you let go, I couldn't understand it." He pauses to pull out a slip of folded paper and push it towards her on the tabletop, "Until Proctor Quinlan brought this to me. Apparently, it was stuck in with some technical documents you submitted. Now, it all makes sense."

Theodora's heart slams to a halt, but her face remains passive. She reaches out, takes the note, unfolding it even though she already knows what's written on it. In her neat, patient handwriting the words _the Railroad_ are scrawled across the top half of the page.

"How long?" Maxson asks, in a calm, quiet tone. It makes the hair on the nape of her neck stand on end.

"How long what?" she questions in turn.

"How long have you been their agent?" His patience is running short, she can see it on his face.

Hazel eyes sweep down, stare at the crumpled note as she gives her reply, "Before the Brotherhood came to the Commonwealth."

There's the harsh sound of an inhale, Maxson runs a hand through his hair, "Look at me."

She swallows thickly and ignores his demand.

" _Look at me, Theodora_." It's the first time he's ever called her by her name. No titles, no pretentious bullshit, and the rough sound of it passing his lips makes her throat burn. An emptiness inside her aches, and she clenches her thighs reflexively.

Her gaze meets his, "How much have you told them?"

"I haven't told them anything," she answers quietly.

"Do not lie to me."

"I haven't told them anything," she repeats, before saying, "And I refuse to give you any information on them. I'm not a spy. This isn't a case of espionage." She didn't join either of these factions with intent to sell secrets to the other.

He's far more composed than she is, that much is plain. She has to fight the urge to goad him, to rip free the anger that simmers just under the surface of his skin.

Maxson speaks again, "The Railroad frees those _machines_. If they help our enemy then they are our enemy."

Cut and dry. Black and white.

"The Institute is your enemy, not their creations. Do you not understand that the Railroad is an enemy of the Institute?" Theodora is just short of pleading with him, exasperation running high.

His eyes darken, seas of turbulent blue, "How long did you think you could serve the Brotherhood and work as a Railroad agent before the two paths inevitably crossed?"

And suddenly, it all clicks in place. Her chest feels too tight and her stomach plummets, "You want to wipe them out, don't you?"

His mouth tightens into a grim line. Another piece to complete the picture.

Theodora's voice shakes just barely, "You were going to send me to do it."

Maxson says nothing, and she feels her slick grip on composure slip further. She begs, on hands and knees if she has to, "Elder Maxson, please. The Railroad is-"

"I've already issued the order. It was to be given to you at the appropriate time by Lancer-Captain Kells." Brusque and short, ringing with a finality that her heart can't bear.

She slams her fists down on the table, stands on her feet. Her chair topples over at the movement and the noise wrecks the onslaught of thoughts swirling in her brain. Running her hands over her face, a peel of laughter tears out of her throat. It holds no joy and borders on the edge of hysterical. _She_ borders on the edge of hysterical.

"Jesus _Christ,_ " are the words that come tumbling past her lips, raw and full of bitterness. She casts a glance at the Elder, still seated and solemn faced, "And why do you think I would do this?"

"Because it is the right thing to do." He speaks with such surety, so faithful in the Brotherhood, in the Codex, in this goddamn war they've started against machines not responsible for their own creation.

 _Who do you think you are?_ she wonders.

Instead, with a calm she does not have, with words so heavy she can hardly find the courage to speak them, she says, "You don't get to tell me what's right."

\---

She stalks the Prydwen before pacing the small room they so graciously set aside for her. Side to side, east to west, right to left. Over and over and over. Free-falling with nothing to grasp on to.

Her Pip-Boy tells her it's just past two in the morning, lets her know that she will not be getting any sleep tonight. Theodora grabs several strips of dirty fabric ill-suited for wrapping wounds, and makes her way into the guts of the airship.

There's a room there that is used as a makeshift, close-combat training area. It's abandoned, too early or too late, she has the place to herself and that's all she really wanted. The air down here is mustier, stale and cold and lonely.

She wraps her knuckles with a gentleness she does not feel and sets to work.


	5. five.

Theodora doesn't know how long it's been, but her arms ache. From her nails to her shoulders, her knuckles scream and her muscles whimper. But she isn't tired, has to keep going until all she can do is drop.

There's the sound of the metal door opening, then the click as it swings shut.

Gone is his trademark coat, as well as the standard black flight suit. He wears an old henley now, buttons undone and holotags hanging against his chest. His faded pajama pants are hung low on his hips, his feet bare.

He has given up on sleep too.

Wants to revel in the misery with her.

"I only want to do what is best," he says into the quiet silence.

"A preemptive strike before we even know their intentions seems reasonable." A pause, "Sometimes you have to start a war to prevent one. I get it." Theodora hurls his own words at him from that first meeting so long ago.

Maxson sighs, suddenly looking far too much like the twenty year old man she knows him to be, "You want to fight me, that's fine."

Her eyes drop down, his hands are wrapped just like hers. _He isn't talking about another argument_ , she thinks. And suddenly it hits too close to home, skirts at the edge of something she once knew.

He takes one step towards her, then two, "Yes or no, Theodora."

A heady rush pounds in her ears, her stomach twists in anticipation. God help her, but she _wants_ it. A desperate need howling up from the  marrow of her bones.

"Yes."

\---

The first punch comes without warning and she barely dodges it in time, but his knuckles still roughly graze the side of her cheek. It catches her unprepared, sends her stumbling, her back slamming into the metal wall behind her.

Her left arm comes up to block his next swing, and she slams her knee into his abdomen, right fist smashing into the side of his nose. Maxson grunts, but his left hand grabs her upper arm to pull her closer. She moves with him, and he seizes the opportunity to kick one of her legs out from underneath her, an action that sends them both sprawling across the floor. Their brief struggle has settled him between her legs and he uses his grip on her arm to pin it down, curls his right hand around her throat.  The threat of the action is heavy, like a promise waiting to be delivered.

Her chest heaves from the impact of the fall and he can feel her heart pounding where his forearm is pressed against her breastbone. Her hazel eyes are wild, pupils blown wide, her freckled cheeks are flushed a precious red. It's a sight that sets Maxson's blood boiling through his veins. He feels himself harden at what a pretty picture she makes caged beneath him. The hand around her neck clenches harder and he watches with bizarre fascination as her pupils dilate even further, as the stain across her cheeks darkens. He's struck with the realization that her own reactions aren't from physical exertion, but unexpected arousal.

Arthur leans down, so close that his nose brushes against hers, "Isn't this what you wanted?" His voice is coarse, callous and sounds hungry even to his own ears.

Her nostrils flare and her free hand twines in his hair and _wrenches_ , causing fire to prickle violently across his scalp. Childish, but it's a last desperate attempt on her part to sway the odds in her favor. The hand grasping her throat slides up, just below her chin and pushes, craning her neck and head at a painful angle.

"Let go."

The command only infuriates her more and she pulls harder at the hair clutched in her hand. Maxson clamps down on her windpipe, choking her, " _Let go_."

She shifts underneath him, a futile effort to try and free herself. The movement presses her body tighter against him, presses the evidence of his own arousal directly into the cradle of her thighs. A wheezy exhale passes her lips and she stiffens, the hand in his hair loosening before dropping down to her side completely.

It gives the illusion of a swift and sudden submission, one that he should have been prepared for, but it still comes as a surprise when she bares her teeth and slams her fist into his jaw.  Her left knee comes up, rams the side of his ribcage with a brutal ferocity that sends him leaning heavily to one side. It's just enough to give her the opening she needs.

Rolling out from underneath him, her hands push her onto elbows, onto knees, and she has one foot flat on the floor. But there's a cage around her other ankle, and he pulls with a strength she cannot fathom, steals away her glimpse of freedom. Theodora's forehead smacks into the floor, teeth slicing into her bottom lip on impact, and she doesn't have the chance to get up before his knee is digging into her spine, fingers tangling in her hair. Maxson yanks her head up and back, making her gasp at the strain, eyes watering as blood drips off her chin and onto the steel floor.

He has her backed into a corner, escape impossible. Blue eyes watch the fingers of her right hand curl into a fist as her left hand comes up, digs nails into the wrist holding her hair. She cries out in frustration, lashes wet and pulse throbbing.

Maxson's heart pounds with every hoarse pull of her breath, and he waits. One second, then two, and her fist unfurls before she slaps her open palm down on the floor.

It's over, then. She's lost.

He lifts the pressure off her back, moves down the length of her pinned body. Knees spread her thighs just wide enough to make do, pushes his nose into the hollow behind her ear. Breathes rough and ragged.

This was always an inevitability for them, it seems. Fate plays a cruel game, sending them colliding together and letting them fumble their way through it with no direction, no sense, no promise of a halfway decent outcome.

Something calls for him to give up, to _give in_ , and he's only human. Only a man.

"Tell me no," he rasps, white-hot and burning across the flesh of her throat.

She says nothing.

" _Please_." It's funny how he brought her to her knees, bloodied and bruised and broken, but he's the one begging, " _Theodora."_

Her left hand slips from its perch around his wrist. She hangs her head, heavy between braced arms.

Arthur can't move fast enough, fingers catching on the waistband of her long-johns, pulls the material past the swell of her hips, down her too-long legs. He frees himself from the confines of his sleep pants, hard and aching.

Theodora moves then, thighs widening, hips pushing back. She's slick with arousal, so thick he can almost taste it, and the length of him slides against her. She jerks, the tip of his cock catching on her opening, and there's a moment of quiet stillness before he thrusts home. Her shoulders arch back, and she gasps wetly at the sudden intrusion.

Warm, velvet walls instantly clamp down around him, and Arthur shifts, nudging her thighs further apart in order to seat himself fully inside her. Her head still hangs between braced arms like a flower on a broken stem, breath coming in short, unsatisfying pants. Retreating just a few inches, he presses his chest against her back, his holotags slipping forward to tangle in her mess of ginger hair. This time, when he slides back in, he lays one firm hand on her abdomen and presses down. A soft, urgent noise spills from her parted lips and it sets his blood on fire. 

Theodora's eyes flutter shut, pushes back to meet him. If she doesn't think hard enough, she's almost in a different time, different place, in a similar situation, and the lips at her ear whisper soft words in another man's voice, " _C'mon, sweetheart. Let me hear you sing._ "

But that man is gone, and Maxson doesn't love her with the same finesse. This isn't even love, because Maxson fucks her like he fights her; brutal and relentless. Her body decides that it doesn't matter who he is, the pleasure still coils bright and insistent, slides up the length of her spine, sends her headfirst off  the rapidly approaching edge.

He feels her tighten, sees her shaking apart beneath him. An arm snags her about the waist, pulls her closer, he would crawl inside her if he could. Roll out a carpet, call her home. He follows not long after, nails burrow into the skin of her ribs, teeth latching on to the slope of her clothed shoulder. Maxson pulls out to spend himself, making a mess in the dip of her back.

He rights himself, watches somberly as she does the same. Theodora faces him, but doesn't have the strength to look him in the eyes. There's an angry red mark across her forehead that's just hinting at the barest twinge of dark blue. The split in her bottom lip is still sluggishly oozing blood down the drop of her chin.

Arthur feels as though he's ruined her, but he can't find it within himself to feel sorry.

She moves to leave, and with an urge he can't explain, his hand darts out and grabs her forearm. Theodora turns her head slowly, eyes sliding up to meet his. A flash of green swimming in muddy brown, but he says nothing. His features are stone-like, face expressionless.

A small rush of air rustles through her parted lips, "I wonder," she begins, voice soft and low, "if you would approve of my choice in companionship now." There's not a twinge of insincere mocking, no mirth in the depths of her eyes when she asks him the question.

She pulls her arm from his grasp and quietly leaves the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> haha, i ignored my fucking physics term paper to write these last two stupid chapters.  
> so, lots of notes on this one.  
> this is the end of the first installment of the underdog series, i'll be working on slingshot next, and i'm pretty sure it's going to be multi-chaptered as well.  
> you might've noticed that the scenes in this chapter are crazy similar to the original version of goliath, and you would be right! because i liked those parts so i put them back in here in a better context, i hope.  
> and this is sorta my first fumbling foray into somewhat descriptive smut, but i think i've read enough shitty romance novels to write it without breaking out of my awkward comfort zone. so like, if it's bad let me know and i can try and fix it.  
> if you're just curious to know what set the tone for this particular chapter, the song Swing by Taking Back Sunday is pretty much it. you know, just in case some of y'all were wondering or whatever.


End file.
